Subject: Elsa
by griminal
Summary: When they are children, Elsa is taken away from Anna without explanation. Anna has always wanted answers, but the ones she gets when Elsa comes back into her life will shake her to the core. The world is not safe for those who are "gifted". Elsanna - incest, mature/dark themes!
1. Prologue

Anna is six years old, and she is crying.

Fat tears squeeze out of her big, teal eyes and dribble down her chubby cheeks. Her hands clench into angry fists and she stomps her way across the playground, her bottom lip wobbling. She's only got one destination in mind.

"Elsa!" She wails when she reaches the jungle gym. "Elsaaaaa!"

There are a bunch of older kids hanging off monkey bars and kicking cans and sitting in the dirt. One of them, a brunette with wide, chocolate-brown eyes, is with Elsa, and they're sharing a book. Elsa's head shoots up immediately, thick silver-white bangs fluttering across her forehead, escaping the ocean blue band she wears.

"Anna? Anna! What's wrong?"

The brunette takes the book, startled, as Elsa hops up to her feet and rushes towards her sister. Anna hiccups and falls into Elsa's arms, blubbering nonsense at the older girl's collar-bone.

"It's okay, Anna, I got you," Elsa whispers, cool, soft hands stroking the back of the little redhead's hair and soothing circles along her spine. "I got you."

Straight away, Anna feels better. There's nothing more comforting than her sister's embrace, not even the arms of their mother. Mama doesn't feel or smell the same. Not like Elsa. Anna's tiny limbs loop around Elsa's neck and she does her best to stiffen up and be strong, twirling her small, plump fingers into Elsa's silky hair.

"A b-boy took my juice box an' p-pushed me down," she admits when she stops crying. She sniffles and wipes at her nose with the back of her hand when Elsa pulls away, leaving her palms settled on Anna's shoulders.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Is the first thing she asks, her thumbs clearing damp from Anna's freckled cheeks and her wet lashes.

"Umhm." Anna nods and points at her left knee where an angry red gash throbs in time with her heartbeat. Now that she's focused on it again, the pain brings fresh tears. Elsa's expression crumbles with sadness for a moment, before she presents a winning smile.

"Want me to kiss it better?"

"Yeah," Anna mumbles, giggling when Elsa kneels and presses her cold, tingly, magic lips to the wound. That _always _works, whether Anna's got a scrape, a bump, a bruise or a paper cut. Refreshing numbness spreads around the inflamed skin, and then it doesn't hurt anymore. Oh, Elsa's the _best_. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Elsa says as she rises. She rubs their noses together and Anna squeals in delight. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, loads!" How could she not? But then she remembers something, and a pout tugs at her mouth. "Hans still has my juice box…"

"Hans?"

"He's the one who took it…"

"Show me."

Anna slips one pudgy hand into Elsa's and tugs her to the sandbox. She's suddenly overcome with excitement: Hans is gonna get what-for! Big sis will show him!

"There he is, wearin' the white shirt."

Hans, an auburn haired boy, older and bossy, Anna's purple juice box with a smiling orange on the front of the carton in his grip, throws a fistful of grit at another, a genteel blond boy with a brown puppy, and puts the straw in his mouth to suck. Anna watches Elsa's fingers twitch, the corners of her mouth quirking impishly, and then the straw is covered in ice. Hans yelps and tries to pull it away, but it's frozen to his tongue and he makes a funny, goatish noise.

Peals of laughter erupt from Anna's chest. Elsa's grin gets wider and her digits move again. Hans' shorts suddenly stir as a frigid wind blows about him, and then he's hopping up and down on the spot and shrieking like a new-born baby.

"Cold, cold, cold, it's cold!"

The redhead is laughing so hard she's almost bent double, but Elsa's not done yet. A patch of ice appears beneath Hans' feet and he slips, bowling head over heels and ending up as a pile of limbs. He bursts into tears, an embarrassing wet patch on his shorts, and off he runs.

"Mommy, mommy!" He wails as he goes. The blond boy with the puppy looks on in stunned awe, shaking dirt out of his knit cap.

"That was amazing!" Anna exclaims when her sniggers die down. Elsa stands up straight and looks proud of herself; and pleased.

"Well, I don't think he'll bother you again," she says, showing all her teeth in a mischievous smirk.

"Nope! Hey, Elsa, do you wanna build a sand castle?"

"Okay!"

The girls take the spade and bucket Hans left behind and set to work creating a childish masterpiece. They build bridges and spires and when they're done, they sit back and observe their lopsided but ambitious bastion. Elsa's arm slides around Anna's waist and not seconds afterwards, the redhead reciprocates the gesture.

"Elsa?"

"Yes, Anna?"

"We're best buddies, right?" Cherubic, freckly cheeks, carded up by a hopeful, gap-toothed smile, warm Elsa's face as they near. Anna can see deep into the sapphire of Elsa's eyes and she thinks, in that moment, she wants to be with Elsa for the rest of time, however long that is.

"Of course we are."

"And," she holds out one sticky, sandy palm and waits until Elsa places one of her own in it, "we're gonna be together forever, right?"

"Yeah, for_ever_ and _ever_."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

It is a few days after this incident that a big, black jeep with tinted windows appears at the Arendelle residence, and men in dark suits and sunglasses knock on the door. Anna's hiding beneath the stairs when it happens, because she's supposed to be in her room, a punishment for sneaking down in the middle of the night to eat the rest of the chocolate cake they had for dessert. Her mama answers and the men ask for Elsa. Mama calls for papa.

Papa shouts when he arrives, tells them to get out of his house and never come back, but then a short, wiry man with thinning grey hair and a thick, bristly moustache below a large nose and beady eyes steps forward and flashes some kind of badge at papa, and he goes quiet.

Above, Anna can hear gentle footsteps descending the staircase and she knows it's Elsa. A bad feeling stirs in the pit her belly and she wants to jump out and say no, Elsa, go back upstairs! But she doesn't, because she'll get in a lot of trouble and she doesn't like being scolded in front of her sister.

"What's going on, mama?" Elsa says, "I heard shouting."

"It's nothing, sweetheart," Mama tells her, but she's panicking, Anna knows, because her voice is high-pitched and wheezy, like it was when papa forgot about his allergies once and ate shellfish and they had to call an ambulance because he couldn't breathe.

The skinny man talks, then. He's got a weird accent that Anna has never heard before, and his Norsk isn't very good, broken and basic. "You are Elsa?" He says, and Anna watches her sister pull up her manners and curtsey. Anna wouldn't have. She doesn't like this man.

"Yes, sir."

"My name is Percival Wesleton," the man says, "and I am going to be taking you somewhere special."

"No, you are not!" Papa roars. Elsa jerks, frightened as papa is usually very even-tempered, and the burly suited men attempt to move forward and do something, Anna's not sure what, but Wesleton halts them by holding up a withered hand.

"Mr Arendelle," he drawls, "perhaps you and your wife would like to discuss this in greater detail with me? Your daughter, too, as it were."

Papa's face becomes purple with anger. "Why, you – "

"Choose your actions wisely," Wesleton interrupts darkly, "because I can make this either very easy or very difficult for you. You have another child, as I understand it? Perhaps you should be thinking of her sake, as well as your own."

Anna doesn't know what this means, but mama gasps in horror. Elsa seems alarmed, papa furious, and Anna is very confused and very scared. Something terrible is unfolding here and her immature mind is frustrated that she cannot figure it out. There is a cruel expression on the skeletal man's face and Anna wishes he'd just leave and take his creepy goons with him.

Why does he want to take Elsa, and where?

"Akthar," mama whispers, latching onto papa's arm. "Please, let's just…just do as he says."

Papa relents, but he's sterner than Anna has ever seen him. Not even when she rode her bike down the halls and crashed into his antiques cabinet and broke everything inside did he look this way. Muscles in his jaw jump and twitch, but mama squeezes his bicep.

"Fine," he snaps and extricates himself from his wife's hold. "We can _talk_ in my study."

He takes large, fitful strides until he's out of Anna's sight. Wesleton rubs his gloved hands together. "I'm glad you are seeing reason," he sneers, and follows, his men trailing behind him like loyal guard dogs. His boots make echoing taps on the hardwood floor.

"Mama?" Elsa murmurs quietly. She tugs self-consciously at her skirt, and then her hands cup each other in a gesture Anna has come to recognise as uncertainty.

Mama takes a moment to collect herself. She breathes deeply, wipes her face, and smiles at her eldest child. "Everything is okay," she says and holds her arms out. Elsa hesitates for a few seconds before accepting the embrace. Mama smooths her palms over the crown of Elsa's head and then down the girl's silvery white braid and Anna watches in uneasy silence. "It's going to be fine. Now, let's head after your father and talk to Mr. Wesleton, shall we?"

"Do we have to?" Elsa sounds timid as she asks. It reminds Anna of the way her big sis gets when there are thunderstorms outside, and they huddle under the blankets of one or the other's bed together and then Anna feels brave and special, because _she_'_s _the one making Elsa better.

She wants to do that now, but a baser instinct tells her to stay put.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart," mama replies. She rubs the apples of Elsa's round cheeks with her thumbs. "It will be fine, you'll see. Come along, now."

Hand in hand, mother leads daughter away. When she passes, Elsa catches Anna's eyes, spotting her tucked between musty cardboard boxes of things. Her ocean-blue orbs glitter with something that looks like nervousness and surprise.

'It's okay,' Anna tries to communicate with their brief gaze, 'I'm right here. I love you.'

Elsa's lips curl up wanly for a second, and then she's gone.

Anna doesn't know it, but this is the last time she will see her sister, because when their parents and Mr. Wesleton come back out of the study less than an hour later, the horrible man takes Elsa with him, tucking her into the back seat of the jeep as his men fold in after. Anna forgets all about being seen and reprimanded at this point, darting free of her secret spot, but papa catches her in his arms and scoops her off the ground before she can run outside after her sister.

"Where's Elsa going?" She demands, but neither of her parents answer. Mama bursts into tears and papa holds Anna so tight it hurts, and she asks again. "Where's he taking Elsa?"

The only response she gets is the screeching of huge tires on gravel and anguished weeping.


	2. Chapter 2

_A pinch bit at the inner nook of her elbow – from a needle, maybe – and she felt sluggish and tired all of a sudden. Her limbs refused to co-operate. _Move_, she willed them, _please_, because fear and anticipation were prickling at her brain stem from the knotted base of her spine, the heart-wrenching kind that locked her joints and loosened her bladder. _

_Even if the drug were not violating her system, she wouldn't be able to escape. Thick restraints around her wrists and ankles pinned her to something cold and hard: a table. She knew, with horrifying clarity, what kind. Everything was white, and her vision began to swim and become spotty. _

"_Subject Omega," a stern, irritated and familiar voice boomed out from overhead speakers somewhere, everywhere. Her guts churned, like they themselves were trying to get free. "I am very displeased with your misbehaviour. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but it seems you are not a good student, so I am going to have to reiterate the message until you understand."_

_Her eyelids were growing heavy, shutting. She tried to fight it desperately, because she knew what she would be in for when she woke up again, but her body was betraying her, sinking her deeper into the abyss where the sharks were waiting. _

_She reached out for someone, anyone, her conscience – her soul – screaming and crying as smothering darkness greeted her with a cruel welcome: somebody help me, please, oh god, please…mama…papa…!_

_ANNA…!_

Anna jerked awake with the force of a car crash, her entire upper body out of the covers into a sitting position, her arms reaching out, trying to grab someone who wasn't there. Icy sweat soaked her night shirt and stuck it to the expanse of her skin. Her chest heaved with each gasping breath she took, her heart pounding a mile a minute.

It took a while for Anna to regain her bearings as she tried to focus on simply breathing, willing her heartbeat to slow down. She trembled with the residue effects of her nightmare, lingering feelings of sick, frigid helplessness and _so _much fear. The right side of her head ached, her brain throbbing strangely in her skull as it usually did when she had these awful dreams, like there were icy, foreign fingers squeezing it – or someone else was trying to enter her cognizance and get her attention.

These night-terrors, mercifully, did not come often, but they'd plagued Anna for almost as long as she could remember. When she had them, it was as if she was in someone else's body and experiencing those terrible things through that person's eyes.

As a child, they'd scared her witless because of their tangible, genuine quality, and a psychiatrist recommended medication that made her drowsy all the time so that when she slept, it was more akin to being unconscious than in a restive state; but the side effects weren't worth it, so eventually she stopped taking them, and by that point, her family had fallen apart, so she had other things to toss and turn in bed about.

Anna's tingling, freezing palms rubbed at her eyes, teal orbs which felt like there was a desert's worth of sand and grit behind the lids. Her throat was shredded and raw as if she'd been screaming for hours, and desperately, she needed a drink. Outside her window, the aurora borealis sparkled, beatifying the night sky, and Anna's feet pressed against the hardwood floor, sliding into plush slippers.

The halls were long, dark and empty – nothing unusual. Once upon a time, Anna had been enchanted living in the family manor, pretending it was a castle fit for princesses, but over the years, as her childish spirit tarnished, she realised it was just a big building filled with vacant rooms, no real warmth or magic to be found.

Through the kitchen windows as she poured water into a cup, Anna could see the moon sitting in the sky, yellowish silver and swollen, and her own ghostly reflection looking back at her, tired, through the glass. The pale streak of white in her hair seemed to glow and Anna, by a force of habit, pushed it back behind one ear, heedless of how it was cool to the touch.

She knew that she should try and get back to sleep. She had a test at school that morning she hadn't really studied for, and knowing so little about the syllabus was bad enough, but coupled with sleep deprivation, and Anna would be a snoring, drooling wreck in the examination room – but she was just so _unsettled_ she felt like her skin was trying to crawl off her body.

She had to do what she always did when her emotions and irrationality got the better of her: draw.

Back in her room, beneath her bed, there was an art book, an old birthday gift from a relative that contained real cartridge paper, the kind that didn't smudge lead or charcoal should the owner want to use those materials. Anna had nothing of the kind, just ordinary pencils, but the book was special, for it only contained pictures she'd created of a single person.

She called it her Elsa book.

Things could get very frustrating as a child when a question you asked over and over again was never answered.

'Where is my sister?'

'She had to go away, Anna, you know that, but she'll be back soon.'

'When?'

'I don't know: soon.'

'Why did she have to go away?'

'Because – because she just did.'

It was always the same cycle. Anna's frequent inquiries were met with dead ends, her parents' refusal to answer, trying to lead her away with other things, the carrot-on-a-stick approach, but the girl had been single-minded and lonely, wanting her best friend, her sibling, her playmate back, and over time, her parents grew snappish before they simply stopped responding.

This was about the time their marriage failed; it had been struggling ever since Elsa was removed from the equation of their family, until one day, their mother simply packed up her things, including all the photos of Elsa they owned, and left, moving to a different part of the country entirely. Anna would see her on weekends and she would ask her questions, but eventually her mother broke down and said that if Anna didn't stop, she wouldn't be able to visit anymore, so she wasn't getting any solutions there.

Her father seemed like he wanted to erase Elsa's memory entirely, letting their mother take it with her. He was losing himself, too, in drink and his work, becoming a functioning alcoholic; as the only people who might know what happened to her sister all but shut her out, Anna swore she'd never forget, and one day she'd find out.

Her frustration, longing and misery needed an outlet somewhere, and that's how the Elsa book came into existence. At first, it was just a few pages of chicken scratch, a kid's doodles of Anna and Elsa playing together, but as the redhead got older and harnessed her skills, she began making portraits of her sister to replace the lost photographs so she would always remember Elsa's image.

She found, oddly enough, that artistic licence wasn't needed as much as she'd thought to age Elsa appropriately. The slopes and angles of her sister's face came to her fingertips and spread out by granite with near-enough ease that it was as if Anna were copying that pretty visage to paper via a model right in front of her rather than a figment of her imagination, though perhaps that was because both children had always looked so much like their mother that it was easy to envision what Elsa's appearance as an adult would be.

With her legs tucked beneath her, a half-empty cup sitting on her bedside table as tiny liquid droplets made their break to freedom on the rim, the soft light of a lamp cosily illuminating the room, Anna got to work. When her mood struck like this, it was best if she let her instinct take over, zoning out until she was completely focused on the task.

A blank page accepted grey lines that curved gently, becoming shapes, and then a face, with a strong jaw, wide eyes and a pouty, cupid-bow mouth, below a button nose and feminine brow. Long hair framed it in straight locks and separated at the back to become a thick braid, resting against a swan-like neck, which sloped out into delicate shoulders. When she was done, Anna dropped the pencil and flexed her cramping fingers, and then observed what had come of her brief creative spree.

Elsa would be twenty now, and she definitely looked like a woman in this depiction, but what struck Anna was how _sad_ she'd been captured. The redhead had drawn Elsa's eyes looking so haunted, the rest of her expression following suit in picturesque melancholy: downturned lips, a bunched brow, everything about it was trying to be noticed. _I'm suffering_, it said, _I'm lonely and scared. _

Anna found it difficult to tear her gaze away from those eyes, like they were coming out the page and staring into her soul.

Rattled and miserable, she closed the book and fell back into her pillows with a sigh. That had helped with absolutely nothing.

* * *

"You look like shit." Half asleep, listlessly poking gut-rotting sludge the cafeteria passed for food around on her plate with a plastic fork, Anna ignored Kristoff as he settled his large bulk into a seat at the opposite of her table. He put a tray of meatloaf and sandwiches down and unshouldered his school bag. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Anna mumbled around the heel of her hand, as she'd rested her chin in it, "I'm just blocking you out."

"Wow, someone woke up on the grumpy side of the bed," Kristoff said. He took off the customary knit cap he always wore and ruffled his curly blond hair before picking up a sandwich and consuming half of it in one bite. "Had a rough night?"

"Something like that."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Kristoff was a good friend, Anna considered as she observed him.

He was not pushy; kind and gentle, he listened as well as a teenage boy ever could, and many a time Anna had unloaded her troubles onto his ears and occasionally his shoulders – but as sweet as he was, Kristoff was also practical, and he was disinclined to believe Anna's wild theories about her sister, and the fact that there was something suspicious and downright bizarre about the way Elsa had "disappeared". What grated on Anna's nerves the most was that there was nothing she could say to change Kristoff's mind, because she didn't even remember much about the day Elsa left in the first place.

Most of her recollections of childhood were foggy at best, just glimpses of events and feelings, and it spurred her curiosity and demand for answers like a jockey urging on a race horse, but Kristoff always had a realistic response for her that she sometimes did not want to hear.

"Your parents probably sent her off to boarding school," he would tell her, and when Anna would question that idea's logic because if that were the case, why didn't her parents just _admit _it, why didn't Elsa come home for the holidays or call or write letters or _something_, Kristoff would suggest, "maybe they gave her up for adoption."

That made little sense to the redhead: why would they send away one child and not the other? The family had not struggled with finances, since Akthar was an accountant, and Anna doubted Elsa was a problem child who misbehaved all the time. If the Arendelles were going to give up one kid, it would have been _Anna_. She was the one who got into the most trouble, and she was the youngest.

Though, perhaps adoption did explain a few things: Idunn and Akthar's reluctance (more like plain refusal) to talk about Elsa, and the disintegration of their household, which could be pinned on lingering guilt, but…it just didn't sit right with Anna. She felt like a vital piece was missing from the puzzle.

Kristoff had once made the mistake of saying, "maybe she's dead." Anna had reacted violently to that. Her sister was _not_ dead – she couldn't explain how she knew, but she did. Elsa was alive out there, somewhere, she just _had_ to be.

So this was the reason why, instead of telling Kristoff about her nightmare and the picture, Anna just shook her head and reached over to filch a sandwich from his tray, which looked much more appetising than her measly portions of…whatever, and said, "no, thanks."

Kristoff's burly shoulders shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Until the shrill bell rang to signal that lunch was over, the friends ate in silence, though it was comfortable. Despite being surly and certain that she'd failed her exam, because the words had just blurred together until they seemed to wriggle like worms and slide off her paper, Kristoff's constant, quiet presence had made Anna feel a little bit better.

"Thanks for letting me dent your lunch, Kristoff," she said with a ginger smile, and the blond rolled his eyes and grinned.

"You're welcome."

Anna's brief foray into a good mood did not last, however, being dampened – quite literally – at the end of the school day when a thunderous downpour had begun. Anna had not brought a coat or an umbrella to school, despite the dark, churning overcast that morning, so by the time she was walking up her empty street, splashing in puddles as freezing water soaked through her shoes and into her socks, she was drenched to the bone, even using her bag as a makeshift shelter held over her head.

The gate to her front yard – large and rusty – connecting to two wild, giant hedges that used to be well-kept (but, after years without care, began to grow out) swung back and forth, caught in the throes of a tenuous breeze. Anna noted that her father's car was gone from the drive, so she assumed it must have been he who left the gate unlocked.

Fumbling, frozen fingers fished her keys from her pocket as she neared the house, grumbling and ready to shed her clothes and get under the covers with some hot chocolate and a decent movie, but with slowly dawning apprehension and surprise, Anna saw that she wouldn't need them: the door was open, its hinges creaking every time the wind blew. Patterned tendrils of frost covered its surface and frame, their point of origin the lock, which had been destroyed, even though the outside temperature was not low enough to freeze the rain, but Anna was not paying that detail much attention.

'_Great_,' she thought first, '_we've been broken into, what a perfect end to a perfect day_.'

Then:

'_I hope those assholes didn't take my laptop!_'

She stood there for a moment as the skies drowned her, deciding what to do. She could call the police, which would be the safest option, or she could go inside the house and investigate the damage and what, if anything, had been taken. The perpetrator(s) might still be there, and barging in could startle them into doing something rash, like running off or harming her, but, damn it, how _dare_ somebody invade her home!

She was itching to take out her anger and irritation on someone, so if there was anybody stupid enough to hang around, they were gonna meet the business end of her fists! Throwing caution to the wind, sodden auburn hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks, she shouldered the door wider and walked inside.

From the offset, in the long hall, nothing looked to be amiss. There were a few pictures up and expensive vases here and there that were untouched, but the same fate could not yet be said for the rest of the house.

Anna took a few strides forward, only to stumble on something unexpected and slippery.

"Wh-whoa!"

She caught herself against the wall and glanced at the floor: there were murky, brownish-red footprints, bizarrely without shoes as Anna could see the imprints of the owner's toes, leading deeper into the household, and they looked fresh. Anna strained her ears, desperately listening for anything out of the ordinary.

Her cat, Olaf, was meowing plaintively somewhere in the house, but otherwise there was silence. The animal seemed distressed, and fear uncurled in Anna's belly: what if he'd been hurt somehow? All other logic left her and she embarked further and at great speed to find him. He meant a lot to her, not only as a pet but a friend, her only real companion and source of love at home.

"Where are you, buddy?" She whispered, checking a few of his favourite hiding places, but he was not there. Anna could still hear him, and as she followed the set of tracks left by the intruder, his cries got louder. The trail led her to the pantry. The door was ajar and had a dirty hand print on its length. For a few seconds, Anna stood in its wake and pricked her ears.

Olaf was inside, and he seemed to be alone. Anna couldn't hear footsteps or anything being moved around, so after seconds of stillness, she went in. The pantry was large, and upon initial entry, huge cupboards and counters towered up against the walls, preventing a person from taking in the entire view unless they came completely into the room.

"Olaf!" Anna hissed when she didn't immediately see the cat. "Olaf, where are you?"

"Meow!" He padded around the corner and stared at Anna, his small brown eyes glittering. She bent down and knelt to stroke him, and he purred and rubbed his face against her shin.

"Thank God you're okay," she breathed out, but then froze, noting on Olaf's left flank there was a grubby, reddish stain in his white fur shaped like a hand. Reflexively she glanced at her own palm and saw no blood or cuts, frowning as a foreboding feeling overtook her.

"Meow!" Olaf yipped again and slunk away from her. It seemed like he wanted her to follow him, so, as her stomach quivered, Anna did.

He didn't take her far, only deeper into the pantry, and Anna's breath left her in a sudden gasp when she saw what he was trying to show her. Close to the door that opened out into the house's library, there was a body curled up on the ground, its back facing the redhead. It looked female, long, wet, dirty hair sprawled out around them and down the person's back, which was clothed in something thin and filthy. This was the person who'd left those odd prints: Anna could see bare feet, soles covered in what looked like muck and blood, and her heart began to thunder, adrenaline spiking instinctively.

What was going on here?

Olaf rubbed himself against the prone form and it stirred, letting out a weak, feminine groan, breathing rattly and thick. Anna jumped, as a part of her that shook sickly had thought they were dead. Olaf meowed yet again and fixed his gaze back on Anna, as if to say, 'what are you just standing there for?'

'_Shit_,' she thought, shock muddling her thoughts, '_he's right. I need to do something!_'

There was somebody hurt on her property, and regardless of whether they were a stranger and a home invader, they needed help. Anna floundered for a second, before deciding the first thing she should do was ascertain what the problem was and what had to be done about it. Cautious, limbs trembling, Anna approached the body and grasped a thin forearm, needing to use only the slightest of pressure to roll the person over as there was almost nothing to them, and they had little or no strength.

As soon as she did this, however, Anna jerked backwards and fell on her butt as dark, spiteful astonishment and disbelief flooded her veins. There was a gaunt, pale face to this outsider, a face that Anna _knew_, knew because she had inscribed it to paper so many times over the years - she had done so just the night before, but how could that be, and what did this mean?

Sunken eyes, icy blue and cloudy, blinked up at her as her brain short circuited and her vocal chords struggled to work, her mouth fighting just to form words: _a_ word, a name.

"_…_Elsa?!"


End file.
